


they don't love you (like I love you)

by ganymede_elegy



Series: reality TV (is anything but) [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, bachelor!jon, contestant!sansa, football/soccer player!jon, it's a bachelor au, post show shenanigans, still too many characters to tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-22 12:26:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30038667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ganymede_elegy/pseuds/ganymede_elegy
Summary: If you had told her, seven months ago, that Ned Stark would be sitting on the living room couch with a bowl of popcorn on his lap, getting ready to watch the premiere of The Bachelor, she would have laughed in your face.or, Sansa deals with dating Jon in secret, becoming reality TV famous, and piecing her life back together
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: reality TV (is anything but) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2209776
Comments: 135
Kudos: 240





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have not read the first part of this, you probably should, as most of this will not make sense if you haven't (picks up immediately after chapter 10)

She falls asleep in the car on the way from the airport, the half-Xanax still working through her system, the heaters on low to fight the chill in the air, her dad's warm presence in the driver's seat. She doesn't mean to, really – it's the first time she's gotten to see her dad for real in over two months and so _of course_ the first thing she does is sleep through the hour drive from the airport to her parents' home on the outskirts of the city.

She jolts awake in the passenger seat to the trunk slamming shut and she watches blearily out the side mirror as Robb hauls her luggage into the house.

_Robb_.

Robb is here, she can see his car parked on the street and behind it, the ridiculous sports car Arya spent her whole savings on that can barely drive in the snow. The sight of it (that _stupid_ car that they'd fought about because it was _dangerous_ in the winter) brings an immediate rush of tears to her eyes and her fingers scramble at the handle, but then dad is at the door and he's opening it for her.

“Figured I'd have to carry you in,” he says as he stands aside and she steps out, feet just slightly unsure on the paved drive. The dregs of the Xanax are still clouding her brain, but she feels more awake at the sight of the house – the sky is just beginning to darken and she can see the lights on inside, she thinks she can practically hear mom moving about the kitchen, can smell the chicken pot pie mom promised to make.

Her carry-on is on the floor of the car and dad ducks in to grab it and then hustles her inside and she was right – mom is in the kitchen and there on the counter is the deep dish pie plate she always makes the pot pie in, resting on a wire cooling rack.

“Oh!” mom exclaims when she sees them at the entryway to the kitchen, dropping her oven mitt onto the island and rushing over and wrapping her arms around Sansa in a tight hug and whispering, “my baby.”

“Look who's alive,” she hears Arya drawl from the other doorway (the one that leads out into the dining room) and when Sansa looks over, she can see the table set up, with Jeyne placing the last of the spoons beside a plate.

“I put your bags in your room,” Robb says from behind dad, but he doesn't come into the kitchen, he hangs back a bit, hands in his pockets.

“Did you bring us anything?” Rickon shouts excitedly and pushes past Arya, coming to a stop in front of Sansa with wide eyes.

“I didn't have access to money until the White Harbor airport,” Sansa tries to scold, but she can't help that she's grinning. It's so _good_ to see her family again. Rickon's face falls and Sansa rolls her eyes and turns to grab her carry-on from her dad. She reaches in and pulls out a handful of small objects. “Here,” she hands Rickon his favorite airport candy and his eyes light up and he grabs it while mom shouts for him not to eat it until after dinner.

For Bran, she got a pocket sized book on celestial navigation; for mom, a scenic postcard. For Arya, a White Harbor shot glass; Robb and Jeyne matching keychains. Her dad gets a small whittled ship in a bottle.

“This was the best I could do on short notice,” she tells them. (Short notice and very little room in her carry-on. Sansa prides herself on her gift giving abilities and these don't quite hit her normal level of perfection.)

It isn't until she's sat at the dining room table with mom, Jeyne, and Bran carrying in dishes from the kitchen (mom had refused her help with a very stern look and to be completely honest, Sansa didn't fight that hard about it) that she notices the strange vibe in the room. If she had to pinpoint it, she'd say it's coming from Robb the most, but even mom is flitting back and forth between the kitchen and dining rooms with a bit more aggressive energy than normal, and Arya seems quieter than usual. Dad isn't really saying anything, though that's not _that_ strange. Jeyne's smiling just a bit too much, a bit too wide. Bran and Rickon seem normal, but Bran is usually fairly unreadable and Rickon is absolutely distracted by the candy mom made him leave in the kitchen.

Jeyne and Bran finally sit down as mom brings in the last of it, the giant pot pie, and Jeyne leans over, eyes flicking down and then back up, and says, “I guess they don't let you keep the ring until the show airs, huh?”

Ring?

Sansa looks down at her hands, curled in front of her on the table on either side of her plate. Then she looks back at Jeyne, who's smile is still too bright, like she's trying to offset the strange solemnity of the rest of the family.

Why would Robb tell Jeyne there was a ring? Maybe he forgot to tell her about the non-engagement. When Sansa had first gotten her phone back, she'd called mom, Robb, and Arya and... and she told them she _won_.

Oh gods, did she forget to tell them about the non-proposal?

“We aren't engaged,” she says quickly and mom stills, pot pie dish hovering just above the table. “We didn't... we aren't engaged,” she finishes lamely when no one says anything.

“Oh, thank the Seven,” mom breathes and drops the pot pie dish onto the table with more force than necessary. Dad tries not to look relieved, but he's a terrible actor, and so is Robb, who's shoulders visibly relax.

There's a strange pang of hurt that shoots through her at their reaction and so she can't help when she says, “try not to celebrate too much.”

“Oh, honey,” mom sighs, taking her place at the table, “we just don't want you rushing in to things...”

“I thought you won?” Rickon asks, attention finally snapping away from his hostage candy bar.

“I did,” Sansa explains, trying to keep her voice even. She isn't totally sure why she's getting angry at their reaction, but her heart starts to pound a bit in her chest, warring with the Xanax that still hasn't quite worn off yet. “But we decided not to get engaged because it was too soon...”

“And he was dating like, fifty other women,” Rickon snorts and gets an elbow in the ribs from Bran.

“Thirty,” Jeyne corrects, but seems to understand that she isn't helping and she snaps her mouth shut.

Dad starts doling out the food and Sansa can tell he doesn't like where this is heading anymore than she does. He's trying to ignore it and Sansa knows she should, too – she should let it go and keep the peace (that's her role in the family, isn't it? Peacekeeper? The one who stops fighting first, the one who apologizes first?)

“Well, we might not be engaged, but we are dating. Do you have a problem with _that_?” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them and she sees her mom sigh deeply and there's a look on her face that Sansa recognizes well, though it's usually never directed at her. It's mom's _one of my kids is acting out_ face, usually reserved for Rickon and Arya and sometimes Robb (also Theon, though he isn't here right now and Sansa forgot to ask why but now they're fighting and so she can't).

“I just think,” mom starts and Sansa immediately bristles at the tone, “that you can't really know someone after two months, especially in that situation-”

“Do you have a problem with Jon?”

Sansa wants to cringe at herself, she wants to _not_ be fighting. But she remembers during Hometowns, how sad and defeated Jon had looked after speaking with her parents – she never got to find out what they said to him. She can feel tears pricking her eyes and she tries to blink them away and instead focuses down on the food on her plate, picking up her fork and using it to move the pot pie around so the steam lets out.

“We don't _know_ Jon,” mom's voice is sharper now and Sansa can feel how tense the table is (they aren't used to her and mom fighting, not anymore, not since high school screaming matches when Sansa had wanted to go to a dance or a party in a too short dress or with a boy mom didn't approve of.) “How can you really know someone on a show like that? Especially someone who would _go_ on a show like that.”

It feels like someone's punched her in the gut and it takes her a moment to choke out, “ _I_ went on the show.”

Mom presses two fingers to her forehead, the way she does whenever she's getting a headache. “You're different.”

No, she's really not.

If anything, _Jon_ is different. Sansa went on for... well, she's never quite figured out the exact reason, except that she had nothing else to do. She doesn't want the fame that comes with it, but the exposure for her Etsy store? The experience of getting to travel? How are those not shallow, superficial reasons? Jon was _blackmailed_ into going on, but her family doesn't know that and for a moment, Sansa debates telling them just to prove a point, but she doesn't. It isn't her story to tell.

She doesn't answer her mother, instead stabbing a piece of chicken with her fork and forcing herself to chew, though she barely notices the taste and has to swallow around the lump in her throat.

There's silence for a bit before Robb is brave enough to speak, changing the topic to some antic from work and Jeyne picks up the thread of conversation and after a while, the family is all talking like normal except her and mom, who both eat in silence.

After dinner, Sansa doesn't even offer to help clean up and she knows she's being a brat, but she can't help it. She wants to blame the leftover Xanax or the stress from the plane or just the long day in general, but she can't help but worry that mom really doesn't approve, that her whole family doesn't approve. She thought they and Jon got along great at Hometowns, but what if that was all an act for the cameras?

(And there's something else whirring around in the back of her mind, that mom doesn't approve of _her_ – for going on the show, for any of it. Sansa _isn't_ different and she wonders if mom secretly thinks less of her now.)

While the table is being cleared, Sansa gets up and heads to the bathroom and gathers herself a bit before going back out. She's surprised to see Robb waiting for her in the hall.

“Sorry about mom,” he says quietly. “She's just worried about you. You know, moving too fast.”

(Because that's what she does with boys, isn't it? Falls too fast, has sex too fast, moved in with Harry too fast. Always so eager for approval.)

“I know you're probably all relieved,” she shrugs like it doesn't bother her, though she's not sure why she's trying at this point when Robb clearly knows it does.

“Well, I gotta say I am relieved, but... like...” Robb sighs. “If you're happy, I'm happy. And it's weird to think you're dating _Jon Snow_ , but that's not... I'm more relieved you're not engaged so it wouldn't overshadow...” he trails off and his eyes flick to the kitchen, where they can see Jeyne scraping plates clean into the trashcan.

“You didn't!” Sansa gasps and then Robb shakes his head.

“Not yet. I'm planning to, but every time I go to buy a ring, I freak out. I know exactly what she wants and I have her size but I swear, every time I step foot in one of those jewelry places, my mind goes blank.” He sags against the wall and shoots her an embarrassed grin and says, “I was hoping my fashionable little sister could maybe come with me and help me out?”

She can't help herself, she throws her arms around him and squeezes until she hears him make a noise of protest and only then does she pull back.

“You are happy, right?” he asks, still a bit wary, and she remembers the way she had cried into his shoulder at Hometowns, how wrecked she'd been, the things he'd whispered into the top of her head as he hugged her. _I never meant it to go this far_.

“I really like him, Robb. I know it hasn't been much time, I get that, and I know it's weird because it's a show, but I'm happy.”

“You two make me sick,” she hears Arya say and when Sansa turns, she sees her sister leaned against the wall.

Robb slings one arm around Sansa's shoulder and starts down the hall and Sansa has no choice but to follow. When he reaches Arya, his other arm snakes out and catches her before Arya can duck away. With much protest, Arya is pulled against Robb's other side, his hand ruffling her hair. “Feeling left out?”

“No,” she grumbles and tries to twist out of his grip. Robb lets her go with a laugh.

“We know you secretly love us!” Robb calls after Arya's retreating back. “She missed you,” he says when Arya has disappeared into the dining room. “She'll never say it, but she did.”

“I missed you guys,” Sansa sighs and leans into him. It's true, she missed them _so much_. “But I'm home now. And I promise I'm happy, even if things are gonna be weird for a while.”

“Do you remember when I started dating Jeyne? Barely a month in, she got that internship in Highgarden and we dated long distance for a whole semester?” Sansa nods because she does remember (what she remembers most is Robb's insufferable whining about it). “It's amazing what a relationship can survive when two people are willing to work through it. Even a new one.” They've reached the dining room and he gives her one last squeeze before letting his arm drop and sitting back in his seat.

* * *

That night she lays awake in bed.

She can't tell if she's awake because she slept on the plane and then in the car, or if it's leftover adrenaline from her fight with mom, or maybe the sugar from the three lemon squares she'd eaten.

Or maybe, she thinks, it's because she doesn't know what to do now.

After leaving the Vale, she'd come home and fallen into a routine – work, home, go out with Jeyne or Beth or Arya or some girls from the office. Sunday breakfasts with the family. It had been fine, but looking back, there had been nothing that _excited_ her, nothing she looked forward to. She'd stopped sewing altogether and every once in a while, she'd eye her still-packed sewing machine or the trunk of fabrics and half-finished projects. She'd closed off requests on her Etsy store. In the Vale, her designs had been a way to escape reality (an excuse not to have to talk to Harry or a reason to come to bed late if he was home). In Winterfell, she'd felt like such a failure that she stopped designing altogether.

Arya had been right, she'd needed something new and despite all the shit she'd gone through during filming, she can't help but feel like The Bachelor shook something loose in her.

She can't sleep because she doesn't know what to do – it's been so long since she's _done_ something – but there's an itch in her fingers to _create_. She finally sits up with a huff and, in the dark, moves to her trunk and pops the lid.

Inside is her stash of fabrics, ribbons, thread, sketchbooks and colored pencils. She digs out her sketchbook and, fuck it, the fancy pack of colored pencils Arya had gotten her for Christmas nearly two years ago now that Sansa has been too afraid to open since. They're expensive pencils and for the longest time, Sansa hadn't felt worthy of them.

_Fuck it_.

Supplies in hand, she grabs her phone and makes her way downstairs, stepping around the creaky floorboards so she doesn't wake anyone else up. In the kitchen, she makes herself a cup of her favorite lemon and echinacea tea and then moves into the den.

Tea on a coaster, legs curled under her, sketchbook on her lap, she reverently opens the tin box that seems so small for costing nearly two hundred dragons (though Arya swears she got a good deal on them). Inside are the pencils she's been too scared to use, never felt good enough for.

She takes a deep breath and reaches for a vibrant blue and flips her sketchbook open to a blank page and she starts.

* * *

The smell of coffee wakes her and Sansa nearly groans as her eyes blink open against the harsh slant of the early morning sun through the east windows.

She's curled awkwardly on the sofa and there's a definite crick in her neck when she sits up. Her sketchpad is on the floor and when she picks it up, she's relieved to see that none of her pencils had broken when she apparently fell asleep last night. She places them back in their tin and snaps it closed before she gets up to investigate the coffee.

Mom is in the kitchen and Sansa can see her pulling out a bowl of dough that had clearly been rising overnight, butter sitting on the counter next to the jars of cinnamon and sugar. Mom's making cinnamon rolls, something she usually reserves for special occasions since they're so rich and take a lot of prep work to make. She'd clearly made the dough yesterday, probably before they fought.

Sansa's torn between wanting to apologize and not. On one hand, she hates fighting with anyone and she knows she was a little too quick to take offense last night. But on the other, her mother's lack of support had stung, as had her father's obvious relief when hearing she wasn't engaged. She understands, she does – it's why she and Jon had decided not to get engaged in the first place – but it's not what she needed last night. What she needed was their support, not their doubts piled on top of her own.

Mom begins rolling out the dough and Sansa steps into the kitchen. Mom looks up, mouth opening to say something, but Sansa can tell she, too, doesn't know what to say. They haven't fought in years and it feels strange and new. The coffeemaker whirs and Sansa steps up to the sink and washes her hands and then turns to start mixing the butter and cinnamon and sugar together as mom rolls the dough into a square. When mom's done, Sansa gets a spatula and begins the slow process of spreading the cinnamon mixture while trying not to tear holes in the dough.

They work silently, Sansa greasing a pan as mom rolls the dough into a log and cuts it down into pieces before placing them in. When they're done, mom places a towel over the pan for the second rise and Sansa gets two mugs out of the cabinet and pours them both a cup of coffee.

“Thanks for the cinnamon rolls,” Sansa begins, a sort of peace offering. “And the pot pie and the lemon squares last night. I didn't thank you.”

“They're your favorite,” mom says softly.

They drink their coffee in silence, a bit of the tension gone, until Sansa's phone buzzes on the counter. It makes her jump (after more than two months of having no phone at all, she's still not completely used to having it back and every time it buzzes with an unexpected text, it surprises her). She can't help her smile when she sees it's from Aemon, even though it's just a simple _good morning_.

_Good morning_ , she types back and it's only when she looks up at her mom that she realizes she's grinning like an idiot at the screen.

“Jon?” mom guesses.

“Aemon,” Sansa tries to laugh, hoping this doesn't start another fight when they'd just seemed to settle back into neutral territory. When mom looks confused, Sansa explains that while she is allowed to have Jon's number, she is not allowed to keep him as _Jon_ in her phone.

“Well, does Aemon like cinnamon rolls?” mom asks and for a moment Sansa panics.

“I don't know,” she admits and then decides to fix that.

_Do you like cinnamon rolls?_

His response comes back quickly, a simple _yes_ , and then a question mark. Sansa lifts up the edge of the towel and snaps a photo of the rising cinnamon rolls, which have nearly doubled in size and will soon go into the oven.

“He says yes,” she tells mom and she feels a sort of satisfaction. Jon likes cinnamon rolls. Check. One more thing to add to her list of Jon Snow Facts.

“Well, then I'll have to make him some when he's finally allowed to visit.”

It's the closest Sansa thinks mom will ever come to admitting that maybe she'd been a bit harsh and judgmental last night and Sansa takes it for the apology that it is. (Mom is maybe not the best at admitting she's wrong, a stubborn streak that Arya has absolutely inherited.)

_You're killing_ _me_ , Jon's text comes in response to her photo. _My nutritionist is already mad at me because I didn't follow his diet during filming_.

She can feel herself smiling foolishly again as she types back, _waffles & ice cream aren't athlete diet approved?_

“I should remind you that texting while in the company of others is rude,” mom says. “But it's nice to see you smile.”

The timer goes off and mom puts the cinnamon rolls in the oven and sets it again and there's something Sansa meant to bring up last night, but never got around to, so she does it now.

“I think I need to move out,” she says, swirling the last bit of coffee in her mug with nervous hands.

Mom sighs a bit, but nods. “We just got you back, you know I'm happy to have you here. I'd be happy if all my kids stayed here forever.” Sansa laughs at that and so does mom. “I know your father thinks I'm too much, but I like my babies nearby.”

“I'm not going far,” Sansa says, though she doesn't have a place picked out or any idea how she'll afford it. All she knows is that she's never going far from her family again if she can help it. “I just think I need to be on my own.”

She never has been, not really. She went from her parents' house to a dorm to a campus apartment paid for by her tuition to her little apartment in the Vale, which she'd only stayed in for a few months before moving in with Harry. She has never truly had to rely on herself.

Eventually, the rest of the house wakes up and she thinks dad is more excited about surprise cinnamon rolls than either Rickon or Bran are and they all eat breakfast together. After, she takes her sketchbook and pencils upstairs and she lays down, belly full and eyes heavy. She'd slept on the plane and in the car and on the couch and maybe it's finally catching up with her (maybe the last two months are finally catching up with her), because when she drifts off, she sleeps better than she has in a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who's back on her Bachelor nonsense. It's me. (Did I ever really leave?)
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing a sort of slice-of-life multichapter and that makes me supremely nervous. Usually when I write multi-chapters, I have an over-arching plot that I can follow (even if I tend to detour in the middle or maybe don't exactly know how I'm getting to the ending I want). As I wrote Ever Fallen in Love, I was also kind of writing this story in the back of my mind - my own headcanon for "what happened on the other dates" and "how would the audience react", etc. I hope you guys want to know the answers, cause I'm gonna write it. Ever Fallen in Love was an absolute joy - writing it, interacting with people in the comments. I honestly felt like I had my own little Jonsa Bachelor Nation going on sometimes and it was delightful and made me so happy. 
> 
> I know not much happened in this, but this first chapter is more like a prologue than anything else and I apologize for the lack of Jon. I promise, there will be more Jon coming up! (Also rated M cause I dunno? I feel like the T rating of the first fic felt weirdly restrictive, but I'm not promising anything)
> 
> Oh, also, I've been, uh.... a little extra maybe and made a bunch of social media posts over on tumblr for these fics. Read Sansa's Bachelor bio [here](https://cellsshapedlikestars.tumblr.com/post/645576162357182464/ever-fallen-in-love-on-national-tv) and contestant Instagram bios [here](https://cellsshapedlikestars.tumblr.com/post/645650447378661376).


	2. Chapter 2

The next Monday comes too quickly.

Sure, lounging around the house doing nothing for the past six days had been getting a little boring, but that doesn't mean she's ready to go back to _work_.

She sits in the parking garage for far too long, engine off, the cold air seeping in and making her breath cloud as she watches her clock tick closer to the hour. It usually takes her only a few minutes to get from the garage to her office in downtown Winterfell, just outside of Old City, and she's cutting it very close. She should have gotten out of the car when she arrived, but she'd cut the engine and then just... didn't.

It's not that she's not grateful for this job – Mr. Poole had been a _lifesaver_ when she'd come running back home after the Vale. It's nepotism for sure; she'd been his daughter's best friend growing up and even though Jeyne moved to Long Lake right after college and they aren't that close anymore, Mr. Poole had been like a second dad to her growing up and the moment he'd heard she needed a soft place to land, the job had been hers. She's grateful and she honestly doesn't mind being a secretary (or administrative assistant, she thinks her official title is), but the problem lies in that she knows her job is a sham.

Mr. Poole had hired her on during busy season and the minute it had stopped being busy season, she realized that it was probably supposed to be a temp job, but he'd kept her on far past her expiration date. Before she'd gone on the Bachelor, she'd spent most of her days making up elaborate filing systems that were only marginally more helpful than the ones already in place and cleaning the office even though they technically had cleaners come in to do it professionally. She doubts they missed her while she's been away the past two months.

With only a minute to go until nine, she lets out a pathetic whimper and grabs her purse and steps out of the car into the damp, chilly autumn air, her sensible low heels clicking loudly in the echoing garage. She's halfway to the office, trying to focus on keeping her hood up against the spitting rain when she sees it – Jon.

Well, not _Jon_ Jon. It's a life-size cardboard cutout of Jon in the window of a sporting goods storefront and... how long has that been there? It's an old Nike ad from before his injury, but the store hasn't taken it down (along with others, but she really only sees Jon). _How long has that been there?_ How many times has she walked past it on her way to work and never given him a second look?

She realizes she's stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, staring, when someone in a thick coat huffs and has to move around her and she shakes herself off and keeps walking and she's only three minutes late when she finally steps in the front door of the realty office.

Everyone welcomes her back cheerfully, which fills her with a sort of warmth because she wasn't really expecting it. She can tell they all want to ask her questions that she knows she won't be able to answer and when she tells them as much, a few of them groan, which makes her laugh.

She may be useless here, but she likes the people she works with and none of them seem to mind that she's redundant.

* * *

That Friday, they take her out for drinks to celebrate her first week back.

She almost refuses because honestly, it's been a _week_. She's exhausted from so much human interaction – for the past nearly three months now, she's been with the same small set of people in a controlled setting, so being back in the real world has been a bit overwhelming. It's Barbrey that convinces her to go (and by convinces, she means bullies, but in a nice way?).

They head to the pub on the corner, the one they always go to because it's the closest to work, and Sansa settles into the corner of a booth, slipping her arms out of her coat but keeping it cocooned around her. Roger gets up and goes to get them a round of drinks and refuses her money when she tries to pull out her wallet.

Everyone in her office is nearly twice her age but Sansa swears they're rowdier than she has ever been and she mostly sits quietly in the corner, sipping at the beer Roger got her (she hates beer, but hadn't had the heart to tell him) while they all talk and laugh.

It's midway through that first beer (that she's admittedly drinking too slowly and it's starting to become warm and even _worse_ ) when she is sharply and painfully reminded that they are in a _sports bar_ when Jon's face flashes across half the TV screens. She nearly chokes, which makes the table take notice of her and it's Barbrey who notices Jon first and lets out a great whoop of a laugh.

She's vaguely aware of them all jeering and someone is bumping her shoulder, but she can't look away from the TV.

The TVs are muted, but the subtitles are on underneath and she watches two men in suits talk about Jon while they replay footage of his injury over and over again. It looks _painful_ , the way he goes down (some large man from another team crashing into his legs) and it makes her stomach clench in fear every time it happens, though she knows, logically, that he is fine. They finally cut away from the loop of it happening and she tries to read the subtitles and comprehend all the sports talk.

(She's been studying, which is _embarrassing_. Late at night, she'll sit on her phone and read articles on football and the Direwolves and Jon and she honestly can barely make heads or tails of everything. She has lived in a house with football fans her whole life and so she's absorbed some of it over the years, but not nearly enough. So she keeps studying because she wants to be able to talk about this with Jon and she refuses to ask for anyone's help in understanding because Robb and Arya can never, _ever_ find out. They'd never let her live it down.)

“Come on,” Agnes from loans slurs a bit and leans across the table, “you've gotta tell us something!”

Sansa drags her eyes away from the TV (away from Jon, they keep flashing clips of him and she feels her dumb heart flutter _every single time_ ) and looks around the table. Her coworkers are on their third round by now, though she's still on her first (now very warm) beer, and she can tell the tact that's been holding them back all week is cracking.

“You know I can't break my contract,” she laughs and swirls the beer in her glass and raises it to her lips to take a drink so she doesn't have to say anything else (she regrets this choice immediately, it is _so warm_ and she almost gags on it).

She endures their good-hearted, half-drunk questions without ever answering and tries her best not to look at the TVs that are _still_ talking about Jon. Training is starting soon and this is his first season back – he was out for an entire season in recovery (and, of course, being the Bachelor). It seems like Jon's return to the Direwolves is _Big News_ and he's all they seem to talk about for the next two hours while she forces down the remnants of her beer and then orders a water. (When Tormund shows up on screen at one point, she feels her goofy smile return and quickly suppresses it because she doesn't want anyone to notice, it'll just bring more questions she cannot answer.)

* * *

It's actually Agnes who finds her a roommate. Or, at least, a potential roommate.

Apparently at one point during their Friday trip to the bar, Sansa had mentioned maybe getting a roommate and it turns out, Agnes's granddaughter just broke up with her girlfriend and needs a new place and a roommate and it seems like fate to Sansa.

She doesn't actually believe in fate, really. Younger Sansa did for sure, but over the years her belief in fate and _true love_ and all things romance and magic had died.

(But there's a part of her that still thinks it, that still thinks _fate_ when Agnes tells her and maybe that part of her isn't so dead after all.)

* * *

She's found it hard to escape Jon since the show ended. Not just because she's been texting him (a few phone calls here or there where they could find a good time where they were both alone), but also because he's... well, he's _famous_. She knew it before, but there's a difference between knowing and _knowing_. She has no idea how she went through life without ever really noticing him before – that cardboard cutout that she walks past every day on her way to work, the sports news programs her dad watches nightly (that _genuinely_ can not get over Jon's return to the Direwolves this season. Like really, do they have _nothing_ else to talk about? Just Jon?), and now that he's the upcoming Bachelor, she sees him on celebrity gossip magazines while waiting in line at the grocery store checkout.

Jon Snow is _everywhere_ and it's driving her mad.

* * *

“As many beads as humanly possible,” Gilly says over the screams of her child and Sansa winces at the crashing noises coming through her headphones.

“Alright there?” Sansa asks as she follows Gilly's directions and adds another line of beaded fringe to her sketch.

“He does _not_ want to go to bed,” Gilly groans and Sansa can just picture her rubbing her temples. “This is the fourth time he's gotten up.”

Sansa has fallen into the routine of sketching from after dinner until late into the night – a habit that doesn't exactly make for the best night's sleep and sometimes she regrets her life decisions when she wakes up bleary and exhausted in the mornings. But that's only in the mornings; she does not regret the progress she's made, she does not regret how creative and _good_ she feels. She hasn't sewn anything yet, but she's sketching (she's going to be moving soon and so unpacking all of her things seems like a waste), and it feels _good_ to be doing something for herself again.

It also just so happens that the best time for Gilly to talk is after she puts Simon down, and so they tend to chat as Sansa sketches and Gilly does dishes. It's so strange, Sansa thinks, how much she enjoys sitting curled up on her bed with her headphones in, sketching and chatting aimlessly with someone she met three months ago and who lives hours away. There's also a group chat with most of the girls from their season and that, too, is _wild_ to her. They're all so different from each other but the show has bonded them in a strange way. It's not too active right now, but Sansa can only assume that once the show starts airing, that thread will be blowing up.

“Do you want a headband?” she asks and she takes Gilly's elated gasp as a _yes_ and begins to sketch a little headband on her figure. Just as she's doing this, her phone screen lights up with another incoming call and her heart leaps into her throat. “Hey Gil,” she says, trying to keep her voice cool and even and not like she's _way too excited_ , “I've gotta go, I've got another call.”

“Jon?” Gilly laughs.

“You know I can't tell you the ending!” Sansa gasps in mock horror, which only makes Gilly laugh more and they say their goodbyes and Sansa manages to _just_ miss Jon's call as she ends the one with Gilly and she has to call him back.

“Hi,” she breathes when Jon picks up and she wonders if he can hear the grin in her voice. They don't get to talk as often as she'd maybe like – she's not the only one trying to reacclimate to real life and she knows Jon's been in and out of meetings for the Direwolves as well as having to do press for the Bachelor, which she does not envy.

“Hi,” he says back and she feels the familiar shiver down her spine at his voice. “This a good time?”

It's still early in the evening and so the rest of her family is downstairs and she's as alone as she'll ever get in this house and she hums in agreement and then notices that she's absentmindedly swirling her pencil in little circles on her paper, getting dangerously close to her sketch of Gilly. She silently curses herself and flips to a new page - she will _not_ ruin Gilly's design just because she can't keep her chill while talking to Jon.

“I was just sketching,” she tells him, feeling a flutter of mild panic in her stomach (which happens every time she tells someone new that she's started designing again. The more people she tells, the more she feels like she can never back out of trying her Etsy store again, can never fall back into her slump, and the accountability makes her feel nervous because what if she _fails_?)

The flutter turns more intense when his Facetime request comes through and she (semi-reluctantly) accepts it (he's seen her without makeup before, but this is the first time he'll be _seeing_ her since the show ended and she's in bed in a pair of sweatpants and one of her dad's old university sweatshirts and her hair pulled back so it wouldn't get in her face as she drew. It's not her _best_ look.)

“There you are,” he says when her face pops up on the screen. He's also in bed, she thinks, and she can tell his hair is damp from a shower and he's got his glasses on and she has a moment where she _aches_ to be there with him in person.

There's the initial round of small talk – her work is fine, her family is fine, he spent the day with his trainer making sure he's ready to start back with the team. She thinks that must be why he looks so exhausted and she feels a pang of guilt for keeping him awake but then remembers that _he_ called _her._ So really, it's his own fault.

When he asks what she's working on, she flips back to her sketch and (stomach fluttering like mad) angles her camera for him to see and explains what it is.

He lets out a short laugh and says, to her surprise, “Gilly mentioned that.”

“You're talking to her?” she asks, mildly uncomfortable with the idea that Jon and Gilly have been chatting post-show without mentioning it to her at all (and then she feels like a bad person for being upset about it because they are both adults and allowed to be friends without Sansa being included if they want. She doesn't tell Jon every time she texts Sam, right? But at least Jon _knows_ she texts Sam as a concept. She's thinking way too much about this.)

“Oh, no,” he shrugs. “During the shoot. She was so excited about that flapper dress and said you offered to make her one.”

“Oh,” she feels her face heat and hopes he can't see her turn red. She's the _worst_ , getting all worked up over _nothing_ (and really, she wonders if Harry will ever truly leave her, if his cheating will ever not work it's way into her brain, no matter how much she trusts Jon).

“I wonder if they'll even be able to air any of my conversations with her, actually,” Jon says with a soft smile, seemingly unaware of her inner panic. “All we talked about was you.”

“Wait, what?” she snaps out of her worry and focuses back on Jon, who just grins even wider at her.

“Well, I wasn't into her and she definitely wasn't into me, so it's not like we were trying very hard to _connect_. So we talked about you a lot.”

She doesn't know what to say to that except, “you knew she wasn't into you?”

“It was pretty obvious,” Jon doesn't seem upset by this at all and she can't help her utter _relief_. “Plus, Sam was into her, so even if it was a possibility, I never would've...”

“You knew about Sam, too?” Sansa feels absolutely _floored_ by this – how much was Jon aware of behind the scenes? She just assumed he had no idea since Sam said they hadn't spoken during filming.

“Why do you think I kept her around so long? And why I never gave her a one on one?”

He's right, she realizes. Gilly made it to the top four without ever having a solo date and she hadn't really thought anything of it at the time, though looking back it's odd. There are definitely girls who never get solo dates, but usually they don't make it as far as Hometowns.

“She was fun to be around,” Jon continues. “There was no pressure in it, either. But I didn't want to have to kiss her, especially in front of Sam, so I figured it'd be best if I never singled her out.”

And it's back, that sickly feeling in her stomach that claws it's way out from somewhere dark and horrible inside herself and she _tries_ to not say it, really she does, but - “did you kiss all the girls you had one on ones with?”

There's a pause and his face settles into something neutral and she wants to throw up or end the call (both, preferably, though she'd like to end the call _before_ throwing up because she'd rather Jon not see that). She watches him take a deep breath as he seems to consider what to say.

“I don't know how they're going to edit the show,” he starts and his voice isn't quite _Bachelor Jon_ robotic, but it's also not _Jon_ Jon, “but I can't change that I technically dated twenty nine other women. If you want to know something, ask me. I'm never going to lie to you, even if...” she watches him deflate a bit, and more of _Jon_ returns to his voice, “even if you won't like the answer. I know what you went through with Henry-”

“Harry.”

“-and I want you to know that what I say will be the truth. So ask me whatever you want, but make sure you want to know.”

_Does_ she want to know? Technically she could wait until the show airs and see for herself, but she's already started this and she can feel herself tipping over the edge, the momentum of her question carrying her forward against her will.

“I can handle it,” she says with more bravado than she feels.

“Then yes,” he says. “I kissed every girl I had a one on one with.”

“Because the producers made you?” It's half a question, half a hopeful statement and there's a pause before he answers.

“Not always.”

“Oh.”

Jon sighs and brings his free hand up to rub at his eyes under his glasses. “Look, in the beginning-”

“No, you don't have to explain,” she interrupts and she wishes desperately that they weren't on Facetime because she can hear the tears in her own voice and feel the pressure building behind her eyes (she wishes desperately that she never brought this up in the first place, she knows she's being petty and sensitive and she signed up to date someone who was dating twenty nine other women and it's not Jon's fault that she can't handle that).

“Well, I feel like I do,” he says with a bit more force than his normal tone. “Fuck, I hate doing this over the phone. This is stupid, I should be able to see my own girlfriend.”

A swirl of giddy excitement wars with her insecurity ( _girlfriend!)_ , and she tries to calm her racing thoughts as she says, “our first weekend is in a few weeks...”

“Not good enough,” he says, voice tight. “I don't want to have to wait weeks to see you while you freak out over this.” She opens her mouth to argue that she will _not_ be freaking out for weeks (a lie), but he keeps going before she can get the words out. “Come to my place.”

“ _What_?”

“Come over. This weekend. Friday. What time are you done work?”

“Five,” she nearly stutters out, heart pounding wildly in her chest. “Jon, that's against our contracts, we can't...”

“They aren't watching us,” Jon shrugs and she can hear the resolution in his voice – he's _serious_. “They'll only know if someone sees us. Come over, spend the weekend with me.”

Every rule-following bone in her body is screaming at her to say no, but instead she whispers, “ _yes_ ,” and she knows it was the right answer from the look that flashes across Jon's face. Her heart is pounding _wildly_ and there's something else building lower that she tries to ignore.

_Spend the weekend with me_.

It's a terrible idea.

If they're caught, if someone sees them, if one person figures it out and tells production, who knows what will happen. It could invalidate Jon's entire contract and everything he's done for his family could be wiped out by this single act. Production could sue (though honestly, good luck suing _her_ , all she's got is a small bit of savings and her sewing machine and her decade old SUV that her parents handed down when dad got a new one).

Their conversation doesn't last much longer after that and she's grateful because her body is humming with nervous energy. She hasn't seen him in nearly a month, ever since they were separated after the finale, after he didn't propose to her. Anxiety over breaking her contract wars with her desperation to see him again, to _touch_ him again.

They'll be alone in his place, no cameras or crew or mics. They won't be on production's time. It will just be them for the first time with no strings attached, no one waiting outside the hotel room to tear them apart again.

She's too worked up to sketch anymore, and too anxious to sleep and she spends the night tossing and turning. It's Tuesday and she'll have to find a way to survive the next three days and not completely lose her mind. She can do that.

Totally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely support of my continuing Bachelor nonsense.
> 
> (Oh also, if you have anything specific you want to see in this, let me know! I have a list of things I want to cover, but I also know that maybe there are questions/things I haven't thought about)
> 
> (I also realized that when I linked my social media stuff last time, I forgot the news article about Jon with bonus Arya fighting people on twitter, which you can check out [here](https://cellsshapedlikestars.tumblr.com/post/645230017467547648))


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